


Canine Connection

by kj_graham



Series: Sam's Birthday Bash 2020 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sam's birthday bash, This can be considered pre-slash Sastiel, but it's mostly gen, just a Sam and his dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_graham/pseuds/kj_graham
Summary: Sam knows he can’t have a dog. Hunting isn’t conducive to pets. But every once in a while, he considers the idea. Bobby had that big mutt for a while, and he still hunted. Sam’s sure they’ve had to have come across at least one other hunter who had a dog, even though his mind comes up blank.Oh, Sam wishes…but it’s a bad idea.For a prompt on Tumblr to celebrate Sam's 37th birthday! Sam and a dog = happy.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Sam's Birthday Bash 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728088
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Canine Connection

**Author's Note:**

> For floofyfoxus's prompt on Tumblr: surprising no one, can you give Sam a dog? Sastiel if you want, but Sam n a dog sounds awesome to me
> 
> I'm actually really really happy with this one. Please enjoy!! I love this so much that there may just be more Sam and Elle in the future. :D

They’re in the middle of a case when Sam’s birthday comes around. Dean’s more bummed about it than Sam; keeps saying they’ll go out after, maybe get people together for a late celebration once they’re back at the bunker…

Sam doesn’t mind so much. He’s thirty-seven this year; it’s no significant number, and he’s really just grateful he’s made it this far. Kind of.

Plus, Sam’s almost enjoying this case. Something—a poltergeist, they think—has been wreaking havoc at the local animal shelter, and while Dean and Cas do research, Sam’s undercover as a volunteer, keeping an eye on things. He’s got his gun tucked away and a flask of salt on his hip, but mostly, he just cleans water bowls, fills food bowls, and fulfills the animals’ need for human interaction.

It’s almost been kind of funny to see Dean break out into sneezes every night when Sam comes back to the motel, punctuating them with bitching about cats. Cas seems a little wistful; Sam knows he wishes they could have a cat.

Sam, though, he’s always been a dog person. And now is no different. He hasn’t had the chance for some quality time with a dog since…well. It’s been a while.

Every night, the boys trade progress reports. Dean and Cas divulge research breakthroughs, important interview outcomes, and plans of attack. Sam tells them how Reginald the Doberman is doing and how Elle, the skittish Border Collie, is letting him get close now. Dean doesn’t care much for these reports, always slipping in a teasing snipe every now and then. Cas, on the other hand, listens with rapt attention, even asking questions.

Sam likes Elle. As border collies tend to be, she’s wicked smart for a dog, and has nearly undone the latch on her run a couple of times. She’s a pretty dog; the typical image of a collie, all fluffy fur, mostly black, white feet, white chest, white snout.

And as weird as it sounds, Sam almost relates to her. Elle has been in Red River Animal Shelter for almost two years. She was brought to the shelter when someone found her wandering the road with a broken collar; when called, her previous owners relinquished her to the shelter.

From what Sam’s heard other shelter employees say, Elle’s previous owners were not kind to her, and as such she doesn’t take to strangers easily. Trust is a privilege, in her case, not a right. Sam completely gets where she’s coming from, there.

As this hunt has dragged on and on, however—it’s not a poltergeist, but none of them can figure out what it is—Sam’s been able to spend more and more time with Elle. She’s part of the pack he’s assigned to exercise, and she seems to slowly have warmed up to him over time.

Elle doesn’t like people. Sam’s been reminded time and time again.

But she likes Sam. While some of the dogs are free out back, running around and socializing and dropping slobber-sticky toys in Sam’s lap for him to throw, she shyly approaches him, tail low, and sniffs at him. Sam doesn’t move. She licks his boot. He doesn’t react.

Soon, she’s by his side often. When he takes Elle, Reginald, and Spot the Australian Shepherd out for daily walks, the boys stretch ahead, straining at their leashes, while Elle trots next to him, keeping with his exact pace.

The first person to show their surprise is another volunteer, a young woman named Emma. She’s talking to Sam about college—she’s just finishing her sophomore year at a community college down the road—and snapping her gum intermittently, leaning against the back of the building. Sam’s sitting in the dirt, where it’s easy for the dogs to reach him, and they’re discussing what it’s like to have a hardass for a professor when Elle trots up to Sam, drops a rainbow tennis ball onto his lap, and stays hovering over his feet, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

Sam’s caught up in talking. He doesn’t throw the ball right away, and Elle comes closer, plucking the ball off of his lap and shoving at his arm with it. Her tail is still going, wagging even though it’s drooping a little low, and Sam and Emma fall silent.

“Dude,” Emma says, “I think she likes you.”

Sam stares between Elle and Emma. Emma’s eyebrows have practically been buried by her bubblegum-pink bangs, they’ve gone so high; Elle shoves against his arm again.

Sam opens his palm, dutifully not cringing at the sliminess of the ball, and tosses it as far as he can. Elle bolts, fur bouncing and ears flopping up and down.

They don’t say anything for a moment. They just watch Elle return with the ball, dropping it back onto Sam’s jeans and staring up at him. Almost absentmindedly, he reaches up and gently pats her on the head. Elle doesn’t flinch.

“Dude,” Emma says again, sounding just the tiniest bit awed, “She really does like you. She won’t do that shit with any of us no matter how hard we try.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face. He scritches between Elle’s ears again.

* * *

Sam’s birthday is on a Saturday this year. They think they’ve finally nailed down exactly what’s going on—the shelter owner pissed off a witch and got herself cursed—and, in the evening, Dean throws down Dad’s journal and gestures to the door.

“C’mon, Sammy,” he says. “Your day of the year. We can even go somewhere with good rabbit food.”

Sam laughs, shuts his laptop, and follows his brother out of the motel, only pausing to make sure Castiel’s coming too.

There’s something…happening between him and Cas. Something different. Something new. It’s tentative, and slow, and nothing they want to label yet, but it’s been making something hopeful burn in Sam. He likes it.

They go out to a nice restaurant for once. Sam, much to his brother’s surprise, actually orders a steak, and, not to his brother’s surprise, a side salad.

Sam doesn’t get any presents. At least not right now; apparently, Dean and Cas both have gifts for him back at the bunker, since they’d all assumed they’d be home by now.

Sam doesn’t care. The food is good, Dean’s relaxed and laughing for once, and Cas is sitting close enough that their shoulders are just barely brushing, making Sam feel all gooey inside like a teenager.

After dinner, Sam requests they swing by the shelter. Dean and Cas oblige, waiting in the Impala while Sam jogs up the steps and lets himself in.

The shelter’s quiet; someone won’t be back until later to let the dogs out again and check on the cats, guinea pigs, birds, what have you. Sam’s only really been with the dogs and the cats. Really just the dogs.

Sam only has eyes for one dog right now. Elle’s curled up on her bed at the back of her run, but her head pops up as soon as she hears Sam approaching, and when she sees him, she jumps up and lopes to the front.

“Hey,” Sam says quietly. He opens the door and slips in, ensuring it’s shut and fastened behind him, and crouches in front of her. Elle’s tail is going at a steady 100 mph, and she pushes into his petting affectionately. Sam chuckles, shaking his head as she hops up to put her front paws on his knees.

He can’t stop his startled laughter when she starts licking his face, drenching his cheeks in slobber.

In fact, he laughs so hard that he overbalances, crashing onto his back. Elle takes the chance to hop onto his chest, still licking his cheeks and now his chin and now his neck and oh, now his forehead.

Sam’s laughing harder than he has in, well, probably a couple of years at this point. His hands feel warm running through her fur, and eventually Elle settles, dropping her haunches to lay down on Sam’s chest.

It would be worse if she was a bigger dog; lucky for Sam, Border Collies are small, and she’s only forty pounds.

The laughing tapers off. Elle drops her chin onto his chest, and he shuts his eyes, pretending he’s somewhere else with this beautiful dog laying on top of him. His bed in the bunker. Cas’s bed. The backseat of the Impala. Anywhere other than the concrete dog run.

Sam knows he can’t have a dog. Hunting isn’t conducive to pets. But every once in a while, he considers the idea. Bobby had that big mutt for a while, and he still hunted. Sam’s sure they’ve had to have come across at least one other hunter who had a dog, even though his mind comes up blank.

Oh, Sam wishes…but it’s a bad idea.

Good mood somewhat extinguished, Sam gently nudges Elle until she hops off of him.

“Thanks for the birthday wishes,” Sam says. He ruffles the fur behind her ears and, when her mouth lolls open into a doggy smile, he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Then he checks her water, lets himself out of her run and double-checks the latches are locked (there’s two now. Elle escaped three times before they added the second one.) and forces himself to leave her behind.

Cas and Dean make it a little better. Dean plays a song Sam likes on their way back to the motel and Cas asks a few more questions about cats.

Sam likes that Cas is here. He’s been flying back and forth through this whole hunt, spending most of his time back at the bunker with Jack, but the last few days he’s just been here. Sam also thinks it’s a little amusing that apparently, his genius of a big brother and his angel never realized Cas could just fly their presents out here, but he isn’t complaining.

* * *

They finish the hunt on Monday, gearing up to leave Tuesday afternoon. Sam spends his whole last day at the shelter dreading the end; he’d only come in today to spend more time with Elle. As silly as it sounds, he doesn’t want to leave her.

He can picture it. Elle riding in the Impala with them back to the bunker. She could go with him on his morning jogs. If Cas wasn’t there to soothe him after nightmares, he’d have Elle. He could tell her everything he feels he can’t say out loud to anyone else.

With every tiny idea his brain comes up with, Sam deflates more and more. He knows very well what fantasy he’s leaving behind; and he knows very well that Elle trusts him, now, in a way she’s never trusted anyone, and he’s about to abandon her.

Elle, smart as ever, seems to know he’s unhappy. She’s practically glued to his hip the whole day, pressing licks to any part of him she can get to and nosing at him like she needs to reassure herself he’s okay.

Sam normally leaves after the dogs play out back in the afternoon. Today, he takes his time ensuring all the other dogs are good, have enough water, and are eating their dinner. He deliberately skips Elle, saving her for last, and walks as slowly as he possibly can.

He can’t put it off forever. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, he slips into Elle’s run. She’s less excited than she was on Saturday night; she walks to him slowly, tail still. She knows something’s wrong.

“Hey, girl,” Sam says quietly. He crouches in front of her and Elle is immediately in his space, little paws on his knees, nosing at his shoulders, his neck, his face. Looking for the issue.

“I-“ Sam clears his throat. His words are getting stuck. He can hear Dean’s voice in his head, calling him a pussy for being so upset over a dog. “I gotta leave.”

Elle tilts her head, ears perked. Sam drops his knees, sits fully, and she clamors onto his legs, pressing against his chest.

Sam shuts his eyes, takes a moment, and just pets his dog.

His phone buzzes a few minutes later. Without even looking he knows it’s Dean, announcing that he’s waiting out front with the car packed and ready to go home.

Sam shifts. Elle refuses to get off of his lap. Sam gently nudges her; she stalwartly refuses to budge.

“Elle,” Sam says. “C’mon, get off.”

Elle sneezes, shaking her head as if to scoff at the idea.

It takes Sam almost five minutes to detangle himself from her. By then, Dean’s sent him another message.

“You be good,” he says as he closes the latches. “Okay?”

Elle just stares at him, tail low.

Sam pulls in a breath. Then he turns and begins to walk away.

He’s never heard Elle whine, and with the other dogs busy eating (Elle had finished by the time Sam reached her) none of them have a reason to be, either.

But as he starts to walk away, one dog starts whining. He gets a little further, clenching and unclenching his hands just for something to do, and the whining escalates to crying. When he’s almost to the door, it’s up to howling and Sam’s grinding his teeth, trying to hold his resolve.

The howling gets even louder as the door shuts behind him. Without giving himself any more time, Sam begins his walk to the shelter office.

Dean’s been texting him nonstop when Sam finally emerges nearly thirty minutes later. His eyes grow comically wide when he catches sight of Sam exiting the shelter, a sheath of papers tucked under one arm, a bright green bag slung over one wrist and a…leash gripped tightly in his other hand.

Sam’s grinning like Christmas has just come early. Dean can’t remember the last time he’s seen such a happy look on his brother’s face.

And, holy shit, the dog looks happy too. She’s this tiny thing, this little fluffy Border Collie, her face all split into what Dean swears is a smile as she matches Sam’s walk with a smug little trot.

Dean gapes out of the window. Well, that answers the question of what the hell took so long.

“Hey,” Sam says as they approach. His tone is a little pitchy with nerves.

“Hey yourself,” Dean drawls. “See you got a friend there.”

Sam’s eyes are very round. He rubs at the back of his neck anxiously with the hand not holding the leash, plastic crinkling as the bag shifts, and gives Dean a nervous smile. “Yeah, uh..yeah.”

“This Elle? The dog you’ve been telling me and Cas about?”

Sam was looking fondly at the Collie, who’s licking his shoe, but now his head snaps up and it’s his turn to gape in shock. “Yeah…I-you were actually listening?”

“‘Course, Sammy. I always listen to you,” Dean says, then sticks his tongue out just to prove he’s mature.

Sam rolls his eyes. He’s around to the passenger side, now, has the door open and has tossed the papers and the bag into the backseat. Then he looks at Dean. At Elle. Dean. Elle.

Then Sam and Elle both look at Dean with exactly the same puppy eyes on both their faces.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Alright, she can sit up here. Just keep an eye on her.”

Sam beams. He gestures to the car; Elle hops in like she’s done this every day of her life. Sam gets in, shuts the door, and with Elle between them, curled against Sam’s hip, they set off for the bunker.

Dean knows Sam has wanted a dog for a long time. Maybe forever. And while he also knows that now his gift and Cas’s gift will pale in comparison, he’s very happy that Sam’s done something for himself for once.

He thinks Sam is too. At least, that’s how it seems as Dean drives them home and Sam and Elle fall asleep simultaneously, Sam’s face still holding the ghost of a smile, one hand curled affectionately into Elle’s black fur.

Dean makes sure he gets a picture of it. Then he sends a text to Cas to tell him they’ll have to go shopping when they get home; they’ve got a new family member to make a home for.


End file.
